


What we let inside

by TheFierceBeast, VioletSmith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel & Vessel Interactions, Angel/Demon Relationship, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley, Castiel has long hair, Established Relationship, Hair, Hair Kink, Human Castiel, Long Hair, M/M, Overstimulation, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Soft Cock Kink, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom, True Forms, Vessels, crowstiel, demon smoke, don't judge us, look at their fucking love connection, sexy demon smoke, this thing is really tricky to tag, vessel sex, we have very specific requirements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7923805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletSmith/pseuds/VioletSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel shifts in his sleep, starts to wake. “Crowley?” he mumbles, his already-deep voice roughened still further by sleep. “What are you doing?”<br/>"Trying not to wake you. Apparently I was unsuccessful." Crowley shivers at that voice, a ripple through the mist of him, smoke almost as thick and weighty as the hair he's trickling through. Castiel frowns, his brows pinching together less like displeasure than like he's trying to focus his eyes but can't quite. He's lovely when he's drowsy. Head turned on the pillow to gaze unfocused at the haze of Crowley's essence: Crowley licks a tendril along the elegant line of tendon in Cas's neck; observes with a thrill of satisfaction Cas's lips part.<br/>"I- I see." As Crowley watches, Cas tips his head back to expose the vulnerable line of his throat. So trusting. Crowley's smoke kisses the skin there. Tastes him, the faint electric hum of him. "And now that I'm awake, what will you do with me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we let inside

**Author's Note:**

> I've put 'no warnings' on this because it's all totally consensual (and downright lovey-dovey tbh) but it basically features Cas having relations with Crowley's vessel whilst Crowley isn't in it (but is also present in smoke form and directing proceedings) so I'm not sure if that counts as technically necrophilia or somnophilia or something, but I'm noting in case anyone might be very upset by that scenario (you best believe that Crowley is not upset by it.)
> 
> Smaychel wrote Cas. TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley. We have very specific requirements.

It’s easier, like this. Crowley can lose himself in the unfiltered sensation of it, can feel every molecule, every atom. Can _entwine_ with it, can mingle and merge until the texture (glossy and smooth, newly dried) and the colour (dark as the centre of an eye) and the scent (soap and honey) start to taint him, and he in turn makes them darker, _redder_ , casts a firelight glow that is partially reflected back and partially absorbed.  
On the pillow of their shared bed, Castiel’s hair is fanned out in a haphazard mess as he sleeps. Crowley insists on pristine white silk sheets purely for this reason – to perfectly highlight the inkspill of it on the pillowcase. It had been Crowley’s idea to grow it, his soft suggestion while twining an unruly curl around a finger or threading his hands through to tug at it while they fucked. Now it almost reaches Castiel’s hips. It’s decadent. Crowley can’t keep his hands off it. His smoke.  
He’s left his vessel safely elsewhere. Prowled into the bedroom in a rush like a sudden, red fog rolling in from some strange sea. Now he sinks himself between the strands of Cas’s hair and tastes the shape of them.  
Castiel shifts in his sleep, starts to wake. “Crowley?” he mumbles, his already-deep voice roughened still further by sleep. “What are you doing?”  
"Trying not to wake you. Apparently I was unsuccessful." Crowley shivers at that voice, a ripple through the mist of him, smoke almost as thick and weighty as the hair he's trickling through. Castiel frowns, his brows pinching together less like displeasure than like he's trying to focus his eyes but can't quite. He's lovely when he's drowsy. Head turned on the pillow to gaze unfocused at the haze of Crowley's essence: Crowley licks a tendril along the elegant line of tendon in Cas's neck; observes with a thrill of satisfaction Cas's lips part.  
"I- I see." As Crowley watches, Cas tips his head back to expose the vulnerable line of his throat. So trusting. Crowley's smoke kisses the skin there. Tastes him, the faint electric hum of him. "And now that I'm awake, what will you do with me?"  
Ruffling up, Crowley's voice is a delighted rumble; distant thunder. "I'm going to touch you." Cas's shiver echoes through and through him. "Everywhere. Everywhere at once, until you forget up from down. Ah, ah-" He withdraws, just slightly, as Cas starts to raise his head, to push the sheets back. "Patience, sweetheart. You know where I like to start."  
When Castiel raises a hand and sinks his fingers into the smoke, Crowley shivers. Can't stop himself from clinging to those fingers, briefly, the smoke pooling around them even as Crowley draws back from that penetration. "Cheeky," he says, and twines himself around a section of Cas’s hair.  
Castiel purses his lips, in a way that suggests he wants to smile. Regards Crowley with heavy lidded eyes. His fingers pass lazily through stray wisps as Crowley fans out, twining with the dark strands tumbled against the pillow. Cas's eyes slip closed again. His lips parted. Chest rising slightly from the sheets as he leans back into Crowley's rhythmic waves.  
It's always been more intimate like this. Without the clumsiness of Crowley's vessel between them. The way he experiences Castiel is not quite touch - not _only_ touch. It's some strange combination of senses. He hears Castiel's skin cells, tastes his heart beat, grips hold of the unnamed, incorporeal part of him that hovers between human and angel. "I was dreaming," Castiel murmurs, sounding like he's still half there.  
Crowley feels a keen twinge of envy. Dreaming; the territory of the at-least-mostly-human. He remembers it, barely. Cradles Cas's skull more snugly, as if he could reach in and see. "Tell me, love. Anything naughty?"  
"No. I dreamed of flying again." Ah. Crowley hovers over Cas's face; brushes his mouth all butterfly-soft. The flying dream isn't new, he knows. It was one of the first dreams Castiel had, and it has recurred regularly ever since. It's probably something Cas will always dream about.  
"I can make you fly." Crowley infiltrates the bed, shimmers beneath him, lifting him an inch or two off the sheets. Cas breathes a laugh, wafts him away with a languid hand.  
"Stop that." His voice has a shake to it. A lovely little hitch that betrays him. Setting him back down on the bed, Crowley wraps him tight. Slips back into the dark mess of his hair, purring.  
In the past Cas has told him he feels like water. Or sometimes like pins and needles, especially when he lets himself sink into the skin a little way instead of merely moving on the surface like oil. "I want to touch you," Castiel says, and Crowley shudders, shaking all that long, dark hair until it shifts on the pillow, spills over itself.  
"Then touch me." He rolls over, dark against the pillows, bright against that hair. The feel of it; raw silk, twined amongst him. "I'll spread myself so wide for you, angel. Cover every inch."  
Castiel's mouth drops open at that, a silent gasp as he reaches for Crowley. As if he were a solid form that Cas could catch and draw into his arms. His touch feels like static electricity, sparking where his fingertips flutter in Crowley's mist like pale moths. "You're cold," Castiel says. "You always look like you should be warm, but you're not." And it's true; Castiel feels fever hot against him, all that blood circulating heat through his body,  
like fire. Cas's vessel; like home. Crowley undulates to his touch, settles into his arms, spilling across sleep-warm flesh. Such an impermanent barrier. Crowley dips in, just beneath the skin of him, at the hollow of his throat, a sparking path down his breastbone. "You're warm, angel. Your heart's beating so quick. Strong. You run so hot."  
"And you are like fog," Cas replies, spreading his arms to leave himself open to Crowley's touches. "Very early fog. The sort that will burn away."  
Crowley chuckles. Ripples across him like breakers, tasting every fine hair, every pore. "If I might burn away from having you like this, I'll take the risk." He dips below the edge of the sheets, caresses Castiel's belly, encircles his waist, tugging at the long ends of hair that have tangled there.  
Castiel has always loved having his hair played with. Crowley discovered this early on and has used the knowledge shamelessly to his own advantage ever since. Cas writhes, the ends of his hair catching. "Why do you like it so much?" Cas asks, as if he can't help asking. "My hair, I mean."  
There's no meaningful answer. If Cas is even looking for one. Crowley licks at the delicate line of hair that twists down Cas's belly. Grips his hips in a smoky embrace. "I have a love of beauty. And you are beautiful." Increasingly so, since he lost his grace again. Since his lingering disdain for Crowley dissipated with his celestial arrogance. Gave way to the desire that had been there, kindling, hidden, from the start. "I wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you. And now," he winds tightly, tugs soft at the lock of hair he's braided through, "isn't there just more of you to love, kitten?"  
Oh, it's more than that, Crowley knows. It's a clean-cut soldier looking like he belongs draped over cushions, smoking pot. It's the fact that Crowley _asked_ him to grow it and he _did_.  
"I like that you like it so much," Castiel confesses. "That you find me beautiful. Is that vain?" It's almost dawn. The bedroom is still dark, but there's a watery thin almost-light creeping around the edges of the heavy curtains. Cas is luminous with it, as if lit from inside. He's still squirming every time Crowley moves against his skin, throwing shadows.  
"Vanity always seemed an overrated sin to me," Crowley rumbles. Slicking himself against all that brimming light, millimetres thin and thrumming. When Cas still had his grace it burned Crowley to do this. He misses that scourging pain, but humanity brings with it different benefits: now he can truly make Castiel _feel_. "Making one another happy - now does that seem so dreadful to you?"  
"You have a way of making the things you want seem righteous." The blankets have slipped down with Cas's stirring. He's bare chested, the thinnest scatter of dark hair around his nipples, and a trail leading down from his belly to his groin.  
"The thing I want is very righteous indeed." Cas's backside lifts as Crowley strokes that ticklish stripe down his hips. Skims his dick, lolling half-hard against the crease of his thigh. Crowley twitches the sheets further down. Bares him to the rising sun, all golden. Spreads himself across all the skin he can reach, tasting him - salt and sugar - everywhere he settles, a kiss.  
Cas twitches when Crowley touches him in these intimate places - the soft skin of his inner thighs, his cock, his belly, the dip between hip bone and crotch. As if he's still not quite used to how responsive this body can be under the right stimulation. "Where is your vessel?" he mumbles.  
"Why do you ask?" Crowley caresses the line of his jaw, sucks gently at the soft curve of flesh beneath his chin, the arch of his instep: these places he can give simultaneous attention to when he's not constrained within flesh.  
Castiel shivers, and his legs fall open like it's an instinct he can't suppress. "Because I like it," he murmurs. "I like touching it."  
Twining around his forearms like vines, Crowley tugs him seated. "Then come with me."  
  
He's dazed, from sleep or arousal, his footsteps stumbling in the early morning shade. Crowley half leads, half carries him to a bedroom down the hall. Castiel's hair tumbles round his shoulders like a cape, strokes through Crowley like gossamer. When he sees Crowley's vessel lying on the guest bed as if sleeping he makes a small, unreadable noise.  
"Handsome devil, isn't he?" Crowley's smoke undulates smugly. Cas leans into him sleepily, lets Crowley hold him up. "Yes," he replies, with none of Crowley's levity.  
It's a part of Crowley, that vessel. So much so that now it's a little strange seeing it from the outside like this; like looking into a skewed mirror; the two halves of him separated out like oil from water, Crowley's essence floating, red, above. The vessel's face is almost sweet in its repose, delicate mouth curved softly into a smile. He's been the sole tenant for decades now. Has kept this flesh from changing, ageing, unless he chooses it. It's a comfort. As much home as Castiel is becoming to him. Crowley ripples, curls about Cas's shoulders, lifts the heavy fall of hair from his nape, rubs at his scalp like he's petting a cat. Whispers into his his ear, "I think you should touch him."  
"Like this?" Castiel seems startled at that. Blinks the last of the sleepiness from his blue eyes. "With you... like this?" He licks his lips, his gaze flickering between the vessel lying on the bed and Crowley hovering formless in the air.  
"Just like this," Crowley billows, folds back upon himself, stormy and agitated. "I want to watch you." His caress is gentle against Cas's neck, his chest, his palms, urging him closer to the bed and it's silent occupant. Castiel shivers at his touch; Crowley feels every single little hair on Cas's nape prickle to attention. "Undress him for me, darling."  
He watches Castiel swallow, then reach out to the body lying on the bed. It looks exactly as if it is sleeping, entirely passive and still. Cas begins by pulling the dark, fine wool socks from its feet. The lack of response is eerie. When Cas goes to undo the small buttons of the shirt, Crowley notices he's trembling ever so slightly. It makes him clumsy, slow to finish unfastening them. When he's done he pauses a moment before tugging the shirt from the waistband of the trousers.  
Arousal is different when Crowley is free of a meatsuit, in this semi-corporeal form he takes on earth. Crowley is saturated with it, a heavy throb like storm-static suffusing every atom of him. He clings to Cas's skin, bathing in him; every little nuance of humanity, flickering like candle flame, so fragile. The tang of hormones, the lingering brightness of residual grace that separates him from other mortals. "That's right. Isn't he divine? I want to watch you with him. Your hands on him."  
Cas finally lays a hand on the vessel's skin. There on his stomach, between the parted folds of his shirt. There's no movement, no reaction. The vessel is as still as death - only warm, limp, none of the stiffness or pallour a corpse might have. "Why do you want this?" Castiel asks, as if he genuinely doesn't know. Doesn't understand.  
Crowley crawls down his arm. Licks out at his own vessel's skin: the familiarity draws him like a magnet. "Don't you wonder how we look, together, joined? How beautiful we are? I want to see from the outside. Feel from the outside. Enter you as you fuck him." Crowley trails off into a growl; a texture of the air as much as a sound.  
Cas makes a soft, unreadable sound and his eyes flutter closed. He shoves the shirt back off the vessel's shoulders. Dead weight, heavy and lifeless. It's a struggle for Cas to get the shirt off, tugging it down each arm and then pullling it from under him. He unbuckles Crowley's belt and tugs it slowly free. "How do you even think of these things?"  
"How can I _not_? Look at you." Crowley hovers, impatient, weaving around Cas's wrist as he fumbles with the vessel's belt and fly. "You know that I'm a connoisseur. Yet I've never experienced this before." He pulls at Cas's arms. Urging him to tug the suit trousers off his silent likeness. Eager to see it bare, the urgency building in him like steam pressure.  
Castiel looks down at himself like he's trying to work out what Crowley sees, but Crowley jerks at his wrist, forces his attention back to the task at hand. "This is a new level of vanity," Cas tuts. "Even for you." But he pulls the trousers off the vessel and lets them lie where they fall on the bedroom floor.  
"You say vain, I say kinky..." Crowley says, threading himself through the spill of hair curtaining Cas's shoulders. He tugs again and Cas shudders. His erection, Crowley notes, has not flagged, despite his seeming reticence. Exposed, his own vessel is flaccid, as innocent-looking as it's capable of being. "Spread his legs," Crowley breathes in Cas's ear, "he wants you to. He wants it so very desperately."  
"Oh." Cas draws a ragged breath, as if Crowley's words are reaching into his throat and choking him. He parts Crowley's vessel's legs slowly, with great care, as if touching something sacred. It reminds Crowley of priests, their strange little rituals, their sacraments. Eucharistic. _This is my body_ , Crowley thinks.  
"All pink and sweet and hungry for you," Crowley purrs. The mass of him pulses like a heartbeat. He senses Cas swallow: his elegant fingers press into the softness of the vessel's inner thighs. It's a sublime view. "Don't you want a taste?" Crowley wants a taste, with a mortal tongue: he's elevated masturbation to an art form, but some things just aren't possible. Perhaps one day Cas might let him hitch a _ride_ , as it were, but for now... He flutters, increasingly agitated, the tableaux before him so compelling.  
"Please," Cas begs, and climbs onto the bed between the vessel's spread legs. He presses a reverent kiss to its abdomen, and Crowley knows the softness of those lips on him, knows how it would tickle at the body hair, how warm Cas's breath would be on that normally hidden skin. Cas touches his mouth to the still-soft penis, lingers there, kissing it, his hair falling like a dark curtain around him.  
Seeing independent of sensation is the strangest thing. Crowley drapes around him, holding back a black wing of hair, kneading at the muscle of his shoulders. He can feel, keenly, the tiny fluctuations of Castiel's vessel. The blossoming scent of him; clean sweat and arousal. The butterfly flutter of his lashes as his mouth trails kisses lower, his little moan as he first touches his tongue to that pristine pucker between Crowley's vessel's thighs. Crowley seethes. He feels like boiling, this _want_ within him, these flames fanned by the glorious spectacle before him. And for a moment he wants to be back in his flesh prison and riding that handsome face... Except... He swirls, stretching and thinning. Viewing the scene from all angles at once. _Delicious_.  
Castiel's moan is one of almost religious ecstasy. He's always loved this particular act of worship, always gone eagerly down onto his knees for Crowley, put his lips and his tongue to all his shadowy, intimate places. But this morning he seems transported by it. Perhaps it's the thought of an audience. Crowley touches him, reminds him he's being watched. "Beautiful," he coos. "Angel, how does he taste? How does he feel?" He skims down Castiel's ribs, feeling the beginnings of sex-sweat breaking feverish on his skin. Cas groans, wordless, his mouth admittedly busy. Ardent. Crowley frills his pleasure, the drumbeat of it inside him, and tries not to be jealous of his own empty shell.  
"He tastes like you." Cas raises his head slightly and his mouth is wet from where he's been kissing Crowley, open mouthed, pushing his tongue into him. "But he feels empty."  
It hits Crowley like a wave, through the core of him, a surge of lust that has him sucking at Cas's mouth, twining tight around his shoulders, climbing his hair. Castiel is breathless when Crowley retreats. Murmurs, "Well, you best fill him up, then."  
"Yes," Cas gasps, shuddering at Crowley's obscene caresses. "Anything, anything you want." Crowley's vessel is entirely slack, no tension anywhere, so Castiel's fingers slide into him easily. Crowley lets a little tendril of himself chase those fingers, flooding inside, touching himself more intimately than he's ever been able before.  
It's a different sensation to possessing. More akin to when he explores Cas in his true form; slips into those secret panting places of him, only this time... This time it's his own body. He's detached. Can't feel it through the vessel, but can feel the vessel with his essence, the wet silk of it as he curls around Cas's thrusting fingers. So warm, so _accommodating_. "Aren't you a lucky boy?" Crowley realises he said it out loud. It can be difficult to tell, in this form. Cas looks at him, all eyes, unfocused on the billowing cloud that surrounds him. "He wants you, sweetheart. I want you, in every way, oh, I do."  
"Can I... can I..."  
Crowley chuckles. The noise of it moves through him like a skimmed stone, creates ripples. "Can you what, pet? Put your cock in him?" Castiel blushes, and Crowley reaches down, flows around Cas's needy dick, strokes it.  
"Yes," Cas pants. "Please, Crowley."  
"Do it." Crowley brushes the curve of his ear, his throat. "He wants you to take him. Fuck me, Cas."  
Cas moans brokenly when he manages to get his cock into that tight, warm space. It's clumsy, like this, without Crowley inside the vessel to react, to lift his hips and wrap his legs around Castiel’s slim waist. Hard to find the right angle, hard to make it work. Crowley watches Cas lean down to press a hot kiss to his own slack mouth.  
So beautiful. Raw. Crowley haloes his vessel's head, touching, Cas's face, his own - inert - all the points of their joining, wet and eager. Castiel is so careful. Reverent. Hand clutching the back of a thigh, pushing this empty shell into position, his hips rocking; gently, but he's in so deep. Crowley shivers. Wants to feel. The amorphous sense-memory of that body inside Cas's, tender violence. The sound of his rapturous cries... Crowley slips inside him. Just a tendril as he'd done with his own vessel. Cas is alert. Tighter. He shudders and makes a small needy noise, his hips moving faster, pounding into Crowley's unresisting body. Crowley twists, gentle. Licks deeper inside him. These places nobody sees, nobody touches; hot and wet and pulsing, red as berries and twice as sweet. The wisp of smoke penetrating him swells, an undulating pressure, fattening out, and Cas moans, loud and desperate, tries to thrust back onto Crowley, to take more of him.  
“Greedy,” Crowley murmurs, and the sound seems to come from all around them. He pulses inside Cas, rubbing against that part of him that has him crying out, bucking harder into Crowley’s unresponsive body, burying his head in its throat and moaning over and over as Crowley fucks him. His hair is a shadow. It reaches down his back, tangles around his face. Crowley fans himself through it like fingers, gathers and twists it into one long, thick rope to cling to. Directing him. Cas is nearing crisis. Crowley can taste it, pheromones and goosebumps and the glorious rush of blood. He reaches inside. Deeper than he's dared before. Feels the throb of him, the vital pulsing centre, hammering home. Cradles his heartbeat as Castiel sobs, stuttering out his climax.  
  
Crowley rushes back into his body with a gasp, feeling the last spent twitch of Cas's cock inside him. Pulls him close, arms wrapped around him. It's a strange thing, to have watched and yet missed the sensation of being mounted, then to come back to feel his vessel stretched and tender. Strange and exquisite; Crowley's cock is already fattening at the feeling of being used that way at his own direction.  
Cas often needs a little coddling, after. Is clingy and unsettled, as if still new to this very physical sort of pleasure, still easily overwhelmed by it. Crowley pets his hair. Can't quite stop himself from moving his hips, feeling Cas's spent cock (already starting to soften) there where he's sore and wet. Cas whimpers helplessly. Overstimulated but not objecting, not stopping Crowley from doing as he pleases. He hides his face against Crowley's broad chest.  
"You're magnificent." Crowley strokes the waves of hair back from Cas's face. His voice rasps, as if he needs to relearn it in this physical form. "Did the earth move for you too, darling?" He's hard now. He can't help it. His thighs ache from where they've been spread so wide for so long. Lovely little twinges between them, spurring him; a different colour of flame.  
"Crowley," Cas gasps, letting go of Crowley's legs and curling up as much as he's able in Crowley's arms. He reaches down to touch the place where they're still joined; his half-hard cock still held inside, Crowley's entrance all puffy and hot from being fucked. He tucks the tip of a finger in beside himself - Crowley feels the gentle stretch of it. "What do you need?"  
" _That_ ," Crowley's voice is a rough growl. "Precisely that. _More_. Give me your fingers..."  
He likes to think he makes something elegant of this act. The delicate balance of pleasure and pain, drawn-out and shivering, sweet perverted excesses beyond the imagination of most mortals. But now, when all sensation is narrowed to this dull throbbing fullness, this ripe heaviness of flesh, Crowley just wants to glut himself on it like an animal. Roll around in this feeling, cram his maw full of it and howl.  
"Yes, Crowley," Castiel murmurs, all stunned post-coital obedience. He crooks his finger deeper, strokes another at Crowley's rim. Edges it inside.  
"That's it," Crowley coaxes, spreading his legs wider, stroking his vessel's big hands down Castiel's back. "Just like that. I want to feel you for a week, angel."  
It's not pain. Not even discomfort, and Crowley should know, is fond of both. More, a delicious tightness, pushing their boundaries, merging them once more. Crowley groans, pressing back, brimming with it, this shimmering feeling. He feels his heartbeat everywhere. Not as sweet and immediate as tasting Cas's, but good in a different way. An earthier way.  
Cas whimpers every time his fingers press against his cock, until eventually the motion causes it to slip free of Crowley's body. Crowley makes a disappointed rumble at the loss, like the sleepy growl of a lion, and Cas hurries to press another finger into him. Then another, four of them in total, thrusting in him, stroking him inside where he's still soaked with Cas's come. He mouths gently at Crowley's chest, all soft lips and tongue. Crowley purrs. His breath catching in his throat. Those fingers are edging him closer, deep and insistent, a heady rhythm, contrast to the brush of Castiel's kisses, the soft sweep of his hair against Crowley's belly, his hips.  
"Yes... Cas..." He reaches down, between them, one hand twining in the tangled satin of long hair, one closing around himself, hard and hot and straining. "I'm yours, don't be gentle."  
"I won't," Castiel replies, determined. Crowley hides his smile in Cas's hair, and then against his mouth - pulling him close and kissing him, tasting him. Cas is fucking him with his fingers, fuck, almost his entire hand and Crowley is revelling in it, in Cas's panting breaths that make it sound like he's the one taking it. The obscene, wet little noises. The feeling, narrowed down to one exquisite, overwhelming pleasure - held-breath, teetering, gut-punching pleasure. Crowley moans, loudly, not even trying to hold back, slurred streams of "Yes, Cas, please, yes," that are mostly for Castiel's benefit. Crowley wants him to know. How good it feels. How good he's making him feel. How Crowley adores him.  
And Cas wriggles down the bed until he can take Crowley's cock into his mouth. Crowley taught him how to do this, showed him how to use that sweet, virginal little angelic mouth to bring a man off. He'd been so hesitant, at first. But determined. Wanting, more than anything, for Crowley to be pleased with him. There's no hesitation now - he wraps his gorgeous mouth around Crowley's cock and takes him just the way he likes, all sloppy and wet and eager, and between Castiel's fingers and his mouth the orgasm feels forced out of Crowley, pulled out of him as if it's something Cas is demanding of him instead of giving to him.  
It takes the breath from him, a harsh cry as he spills, flooding Cas's mouth, clenching around his fingers that are so deep _so good_. "Cas... Bloody hell..." He realises his own fingers are twined in Cas's hair, pulling probably a little too tight: he slackens his grip, circling fingertips against Cas's scalp. Cranes his neck to watch, hazy and smug, as Cas laps at his softening cock with a pleased little smile on his lips. He lingers, touching his lips gently to Crowley's dick, holding it softly in his warm mouth, nuzzling against Crowley's crotch. Crowley pets his hair, basking in the quiet attention.  
It's like sunlight breaking over a sea calmed after a storm. The sun has actually risen, Crowley notes. One unbroken shaft of light is angled just so between the curtains, that it reflects off a mirror, painting the walls with a refracted rainbow. "Come here," he says, lazy. Castiel obeys. Crawls up the bed to curl beside him. Crowley smiles. Draws a thick lock of hair across both of their chests. Every inch of him aches, in that delicious, saturated, sated manner he's not in a hurry to wave away.  
"I like waking up like this," Cas says, in that unguarded way he has. Crowley knows that sometimes waking is disorienting for Cas, a being who spent countless millennia not able to sleep.  
He smiles against the mess of dark hair tickling his nose. "Sometimes I think you only want me for my body."  
"I like your body," Castiel replies, frankly. "It suits you." He tangles a hand with Crowley's, interlacing their fingers and staring at their joined hands like he can read the secrets of the universe there. "But my loyalty is to the demon inside it."  
Crowley closes his eyes. Inhales the scent of soap, dry warmth, elusive sweetness. Holds his breath. "You can sleep if you want to, pet," he says. "I'll be here when you wake up."  



End file.
